


Turning Towards the Sun

by embroiderama



Series: Christmas Carol [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:31:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John enjoys spending some time with Mary on Christmas Eve night, and he does what he can to make the holiday special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Towards the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is a missing scene/sequel to my story, [Unfolding Slowly Towards the Light](http://embroiderama.livejournal.com/193721.html)\--the story really wanted a little porn. ;) The title is from "Christmas Carol" by Nerissa &amp; Katryna Nields.

John Winchester knew that he couldn't dance worth a damn, at least not when he was standing up. He didn't mind trying, though, not when Mary was just inches away swiveling her hips, her gorgeous hips that had rounded and filled out since she had Dean inside her. Mary swung her hair around her head, lost to the music, and the ends brushed his face, tasting like herbs and soap.

She held Dean snug against her side and shook to the beat of Led Zeppelin on the hi-fi and just for a moment John closed his eyes and saw another woman, a nameless woman, clutching her child to her breast as the ground shook from mortar fire and blood leaked down her face. He'd seen Mary with blood on her face, too, but somehow that didn't seem real when he could feel her hand on his hip, when he could smell fresh-baked cookies and baby powder.

They danced until Dean let out a hungry, annoyed yowl. When Dean was fed and put to bed, when the kitchen was cleaned up, the cookies put away and their own dinner eaten, John led Mary upstairs and showed her that he did know how to dance when the beat wasn't set by some long-haired English guys.

He lifted her up onto the side of the bed and she lay back, her hair spilling around her on the quilt. He ran his hands over the soft skin of her thighs and pushed her knees apart as he lowered himself to kneel on the floor. He thought of childhood prayers made beside his bed with his knees cold on thin, scratchy carpet, and though so few of them were answered then, now he had everything. On the plush rug Mary had insisted on, he knelt surrounded by her legs, by her scent rising up warm and heady.

He touched his tongue to her, licking a lazy oval around the edges of her center, and she quivered around him. She pulled her knees up higher, opening herself to him further, and planted her heels against the edge of the bed. John flicked his tongue between her folds, and as she gasped above him her feet slipped and her gasp turned into a grunt of frustration as she tried to find a better grip against the soft cotton of the quilt. He wrapped his hands around her feet, bracing them on either side of his head, and as he went back to work between her legs he found he could listen with his hands, listen to the tensing of the whipcord muscles in her ankles, the shifting of the tiny bones in her feet in response to everything he did.

Following the lead of her body, his tongue slipped inside her, his lips firm against her soft, secret skin. He let himself move to the quickening rhythm of her pulse against his fingers, and when she came her feet flexed hard against his palms, shivering tense for the long moment as he brought her through it, licking slow and steady until her feet relaxed, warm skin curled gently against the bed. He was hard, ready, his cock bobbing against the side of the bed as he stood up.

He slid his hands up from her feet, sliding over calves, knees, thighs until he had a hold on her hips. She smiled up at him, her skin flushed from her cheeks on down her chest, and he lifted her hips until she was sprawled in the middle of the bed. He climbed up to kneel over her, and she reached for him, trailing her fingertips along his arms. He pushed inside of her and then dropped his head to her chest, breathing to steady himself, to not just come from the sudden joy of being inside her. Her hands wrapped around his biceps, her thumbs smoothing half-circles of skin back and forth, back and forth.

He started to move to her pace, in and out, and she bucked her hips up to meet him. They danced there together on the bed, danced to the sound of stuttering breaths and low moans instead of Led Zeppelin, until John came at the tight fluttering of Mary's center against him, came at the sight of her lip caught tight between her teeth, came at the sound of sobbing breaths low in her throat.

He laid down beside her, cock soft now but warm, nestled between his legs and her hip. He cupped his hand over the slight curve of her stomach and felt her breath as she slipped into sleep.

~~~

Mary slept, but John lay awake beside her, alert to the sound of each car driving by, listening for the engine of Mike's pickup. Mike had promised to come by around midnight, just after dropping his wife at church for Christmas Eve mass. John had tied down the tree in the bed of Mike's truck himself; he's carefully wrapped it in a drop cloth to keep from messing up the lights he'd strung around it that morning. He'd taken each set out of its K-Mart packaging and tested it before twining the cord through the tree branches, trying to get it even--perfect.

The boxes of red and gold satin balls were still in the back seat of the Impala, along with the angel he'd picked out to go on top of the tree and one of those tree stands to keep the damn thing upright. When he heard the low rumble an F-150 pulling up outside, John slid out of bed and pulled on his clothes, carrying his shoes until he could get out of the bedroom and downstairs.

Mike kept the engine running while they carried the six-foot pine inside, moving as quietly as two men could with a large tree between them. Mike knocked a lamp off the end table with a clumsy swipe of his elbow, but John caught it before it hit the ground. John then tripped on a trailing branch and nearly went face-first into the coffee table but he righted himself with a curse and a loud stumble that made him pause and listen for sounds of Mary or Dean waking up.

Everything was still quiet upstairs, so John let himself breathe again. When they had the tree inside and past the tangle of furniture, John motioned for Mike to hold the tree while he set up the base. They lifted it up into the stand and then Mike held it again while John tightened up the screws. The tree took up most of the free space in their living room, but John liked the look of it, liked the thought of Dean opening his presents under a big tree, Mary sitting in the glow of the lights. The room already smelled like Christmas.

Mike left and John set about fixing the few places where the lights had come loose and hanging the balls. When all the boxes were empty, the tree still didn't look quite right--none of the old ornaments his mother had always hung, the lightly tarnished brass cut-outs and glass birds, wooden stars and paper bells. But it was a tree, at least. A real tree, like Mary had told him they didn't need even though he knew she wanted it more than anything.

John set the angel on top of the tree, white robes falling down on green branches, and when he plugged in the lights the satin thread covering the balls set off a shine that made them look ten times better than the price on the box had promised. He moved all of their wrapped presents to lay under the tree and then stood back to admire the room.

Leaving only the tiny white lights on the tree burning, John crept back up the stairs and back into bed. He moved as silently as he'd been trained to move with a rifle in his hands and death shifting around him in the dark. He disturbed the bed as lightly as he'd been trained to disturb the jungle plants when he stalked around the borders of a village at night.

Mary sighed in her sleep and rolled over to face him; her warm, naked breasts brushed against his arm as she settled her head on his shoulder. He imagined how her eyes would light up in the morning when she saw the tree, remembered the joy in her eyes when she saw Dean for the first time, and he knew that was everything opposite to the way the light goes out in a man's eyes when he knows he won't get another breath.

He didn't know if he would ever get stop seeing death when he closed his eyes, but it was worth everything to be able to open his eyes and see life.


End file.
